


Since I'm Your Wife

by detri



Series: To Be a Good Father [2]
Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Catholic Guilt, Crossdressing Kink, Dacryphilia, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, Enemy Lovers, Forced Crossdressing, Forced Feminization, Humiliation, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Sadism, Vibrators, lowkey fluffy resolution, misogynistic language, or just, they have a bonding moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27239161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detri/pseuds/detri
Summary: From the moment he’d seen the boots, Kirei knew he had to make his enemy wear them. They were fluffy, rose to just below the knee, had bows on the sides. The fashionable girls who hung out in the malls after school might want them, but Kiritsugu had wrinkled his nose at them as if they were a dead animal.He was wearing them right now anyway.
Relationships: Emiya Kiritsugu/Kotomine Kirei
Series: To Be a Good Father [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988827
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	Since I'm Your Wife

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission fic (my first)! The commissioner gave me a great concept and a lot of little details to work in and it was really fun!! It takes place in more or less the same timeline as my other KotoKiri fic, but if Kiritsugu put off dying for another month or two (lmao)

“You look delightful.”

“Delightfully stupid, maybe.”

Kiritsugu pouts up at Kirei beneath the wig and makeup he’s wearing. ‘Pouting’ is the only way Kirei can think of it. In something else, this would be a glare, or a threatening expression. But with Kiritsugu dressed like this, it is only a pout.

Kirei rubs his nose to hide his smile. Hardly three minutes into their date and it’s already this much fun.

They board the train that will carry them out of Fuyuki, Kiritsugu tottering a little in his low heels. Even without them, he’s a tall woman. And to think, as a man he was on the shorter side. Really remarkable. Kirei reminds himself to curb his excitement, and not enjoy himself too much before the train even leaves the station. The still spot where his heart would be, that black mass of evil, is dancing.

Kirei doesn’t have any remorse about taking a seat on the train while other weekend travelers mill around. Kiritsugu hovers for a minute, letting the elderly and pregnant women sit down first, and he’s left without a seat.

“You could sit on my lap, you know,” Kirei says.

“No,” Kiritsugu says shortly.

_That’s probably for the best,_ Kirei thinks. He’s not sure he could contain himself with Kiritsugu sitting on his lap, in this or any outfit. The urge to torment him, and wreck him into a shuddering mess, would be too great. Especially in front of all these people. Kirei lets out a low breath and rubs his sweating palms on his knees as the train jerks into motion. Kiritsugu’s heels clack on the floor as he nearly loses his balance.

From the moment he’d seen the boots, Kirei knew he had to make his enemy wear them. They were fluffy, rose to just below the knee, had bows on the sides. The fashionable girls who hung out in the malls after school might want them, but Kiritsugu had wrinkled his nose at them as if they were a dead animal.

He was wearing them right now anyway.

Kirei had coordinated the whole outfit along the same lines; distressed denim minishorts that were nearly enveloped by a oversized, gaudy pink sweater; a blonde wig with pink highlights. The kind of overwrought fakery and flamboyance loved by Tokyo teenagers. It was an outfit that teased at the artifice of the femininity it proclaimed. And it was brash, sexy, and embarrassing.

But it wasn’t cheap. Having few material desires or hobbies had its perks. When he wanted to purchase an entire outfit, along with every other tool and product he needed to turn Kiritsugu into a woman for the day, he could pull out all the stops. He suspected Gilgamesh would be proud. Even Kiritsugu probably secretly felt flattered.

Not that he had jumped into the clothes when they had been presented to him. Especially not when he realized that these particular shorts necessitated shaving his legs and rearranging a certain part of his anatomy in a way that had clearly never occurred to him before.

That was fine. Kiritsugu didn’t need to think about it. He only needed to follow Kirei’s instructions and obediently carry out the fantasies that were laid over him.

Everything, from choosing the outfit, to showing it to Kiritsugu and describing his intentions, to helping him get dressed, and now forcing him to walk out into the world, is foreplay. In the years since Kiritsugu first became his plaything, Kirei has become a master of foreplay. He thinks that if he could see it, Gilgamesh would be proud.

Yes, there is a love hotel in the neighboring town. But they have all day. And Kirei will wring pleasure from every second until then.

As the train makes more stops, it picks up more passengers, and Kirei finally decides to get out of his seat and stand, in the packed closeness of bustling daytrippers. He draws close to Kiritsugu and wraps an arm around him protectively.

“Get off,” Kiritsugu mutters, his voice lost in the clatter of the train.

“No. I want people to know you’re with me. Protect you from train molesters.”

“No one’s going to molest me,” Kiritsugu growls, “because everyone can tell I’m a man.”

“Well, that might entice a certain kind of pervert.”

“You?”

Kirei chooses to ignore that. “I happen to think you make a beautiful woman.”

“You _would_ say that.”

The train screeches to another long, slow halt and Kiritsugu is thrown against Kirei’s chest. Kirei holds him there and observes how Kiritsugu’s breathing picks up, then deliberately slows, as if he’s trying to hide his presence from a wild animal.

It’s so endlessly entertaining, the way he reacts. The way the man who was once renowned as the Mage Killer, who Kirei had once thought would be the answer to all his questions, is now one frail man curled against his chest and trying to hide his fear while dressed for another man’s pleasure.

Or, Kirei thinks, fear might not be what he’s hiding. They have been playing this game for years. And Kirei has been training him. By this point, Kiritsugu’s body has learned that with the humiliation comes stimulation. No matter how Kiritsugu tries to restrain it, there is a part of him looking forward to this date.

Kirei strokes Kiritsugu’s shoulder, in a sort of false reassuring gesture, just to feel how Kiritsugu tenses up with his touch. But before he can contemplate anything further, the voice on the loudspeaker announces that they’ve already arrived at their stop.

“Time flies when you’re having fun, hm?” Kirei says, and, still with a hand on his shoulder, guides Kiritsugu off the train.

–

Both of them have spent so much of their time since the Fourth Holy Grail War out of Fuyuki, but never for anything fun, and certainly not together. This actually happens to be the first time they’ve gone “out” since they’ve started this arrangement. _Since_ you’ve _started this arrangement,_ Kirei reminds himself. As much as he wants to imagine an alternate universe where Kiritsugu came crawling into his church, pleading for a truce, it had very much been Kirei’s idea. He does think Kiritsugu is happier this way, though. He may not admit it to himself. But Kirei really gave him the magnanimous gift of peace of mind by forcing this.

_He’d be happier if he just gave in. But at the same time, he’d be less entertaining. What am I supposed to do with that?_ Kirei doesn’t know. Every day is a learning experience.

“I don’t suppose you’d want to go shopping,” Kirei says. They’re lingering at the station, on the threshold of the downtown square.

Kiritsugu shakes his head.

“If you stand like that, people will be able to tell, you know.”

He stays stock still, his arms folded over the modestly-sized breastforms he must be self-conscious about.

“Here, take my arm.” Kirei offers his arm like a perfect gentleman and Kiritsugu takes it, delicately, not sure how to grip with manicured nails. They aren’t outrageously long, but certainly longer than he’s ever worn them before.

Then, less like a perfect gentleman, Kirei lets his hand brush against Kiritsugu’s ass before letting it rest at his side. Kiritsugu keeps walking as if it hadn’t happened.

Just walking side by side is almost enough to make today be worth it all by itself. The way Kiritsugu clings to him as if afraid to be left behind, or as if he can transfer the shame to Kirei by virtue of appearing subordinate to him—that’s right, the shame. Kirei is not as concerned as Kiritsugu about the potential repercussions of this. The worst that could happen is physical conflict. As bothersome as that would be, he can handle himself in a fight. He doesn’t think Kiritsugu could, anymore—as much as he tries to hide it, Kirei has noticed how ill he is—but he has spirit. And neither of them has any reputation to uphold here. Everything is going to be fine.

It’ll be fine. Kiritsugu makes a beautiful woman. It’ll be fine.

There’s a roadside stall selling crepes. Kirei insists they go to it--”it’ll be my treat”, he says, as if his partner can refuse. He does wonder how much Kiritsugu is eating lately. Or is he just losing weight so quickly he can’t gain it back? Either way, it would be fun to play at being a couple like this.

When they get to the front of the line and Kiritsugu refuses to order, Kirei realizes something, and waits until after he’s ordered for both of them to laugh about it.

“You’re worried about your voice, aren’t you?” he whispers into Kiritsugu’s ear.

Kiritsugu’s glare is all the answer he needs.

They sit on a park bench and start a silent war where Kirei tries to get Kiritsugu to meet his eyes and Kiritsugu valiantly tries to look away. He’s eating delicately to not smear his makeup. Even if he did, Kirei has packed everything they need to touch it up—though he can only imagine what a bystander’s reaction would be to seeing a man reapply his girlfriend’s makeup for her.

“Well, is it good?”

“It’s fine,” Kiritsugu says noncommittally.

They eat without speaking further.

Most of the date is a hollow and ironic pastiche of the kind of date activities Kirei has seen on television, but without any of the affection that would infuse them with meaning. They go window shopping, and Kirei points out clothes he thinks Kiritsugu would look good in; Kiritsugu refuses to even entertain the idea. They walk in the park, Kiritsugu’s steps slowing more and more as the heels hurt his feet; Kirei draws it out even longer just because of that. They eat more street food, watch some pigeons, and speak very little. It’s all extremely boring, except for the fact that Kirei gets to watch Kiritsugu doing all of it, and bask in the knowledge that he is the only person who knows what Kiritsugu really is.

Gradually, all along, they’re drawing closer to the hotel Kirei had picked ahead of time. Very discreet, and only mildly suspect from the outside.

When Kiritsugu notices where they’re heading, from a block away, he groans.

Perhaps it’s a little more than ‘mildly’ suspect.

“Congratulations. If you wanted to look like an old man who’s renting a crossdresser, you’re really going to succeed,” Kiritsugu says.

“How many times do I have to tell you you don’t look like a crossdresser?” Kirei lightly touches Kiritsugu’s elbow and steers him onward. “Have some self-esteem.”

“I _am_ a crossdresser.” He corrects himself as quickly as he can, but Kirei still laughs. “I mean, you’re making me crossdress...” He’s flushed with embarrassment and trying to hide his face with long-nailed hands without touching his makeup. When they reach the door of the love hotel and Kirei opens the door for him, he’s happy to not have to touch the handle; when he sees the lobby, he’s relieved to see it’s a completely automated reservation system. All these things are obvious now that Kirei has been watching him all day.

They ride the elevator to their floor in anticipatory silence. And as soon as Kirei swipes the card key to enter their room, Kiritsugu goes straight to the vending machine built into the wall and dispenses a beer, sucking it down immediately while staring Kirei boldly in the eye.

“Not very ladylike, are you?” Kirei laughs.

“Let’s just start...” Kiritsugu mumbles into the beer can, a rim of pink lipstick left where he sipped from it. “Let’s get in the bath and wash all this off.”

“As tempting as that is, that would be missing the point, Kiritsugu.” Kirei ignores the food and drink, the bath, the tv, and goes straight to sit on the bed. “The point is, I want you like this. Just like this. I’ve seen your bare body far too many times for it to be arousing anymore.”

That wasn’t quite the reason why, but it would do. Sometimes it’s fun just to say things, just to see how Kiritsugu reacts to them. He has certain tells, little quirks of body language that Kirei has gotten used to deciphering; even though he believes he’s staying stoic, he’s actually being quite transparent.

“And if not for these dress-up games, I don’t know what I’d do to regain my interest in you. I _have_ thought it would be fun to blind you, just so that you’d need me to guide you around.”

“You wouldn’t,” Kiritsugu says, but from the way he grips the hem of his sweater, it’s obvious that, at least a little, he thinks he would.

Kirei just shrugs. “Come here, Kiritsugu.”

Reluctantly, but obediently, Kiritsugu comes. Without any prompting, he climbs up onto Kirei’s lap, wrapping his arms around Kirei’s neck.

“Good girl.” Kirei kisses him, tasting beer and the unfamiliar taste of lipstick. Kiritsugu’s mouth opens to accept his tongue, even though the rest of his body cringes at it. His hand grips the back of Kirei’s collar.

From the outside, they could appear to be any man meeting for illicit sex with a young escort. From the outside, Kirei thinks, this is wrong in a completely pedestrian and boring way.

But they’re inside now. In a private room, in a building designed to lock in and hide away all of the city’s perversions. Kirei thanks God for the invention of such a place. Because this is much worse than it looks.

“You have very cute legs, you know. The contrast between the sweater and the shorts really highlights how slender they are. I’m sure plenty of girls were jealous of you today.”

“I look like I’m not wearing pants,” Kiritsugu says.

“You _aren’t_ wearing pants,” Kirei says. “You’ve been walking around all day with your legs exposed and your ass on display in these tight shorts. How did it feel?”

Kiritsugu refuses to answer. That’s fine. Kirei already knows: it felt shameful. It was uncomfortable and wrong.

“I was surprised how pale your skin was, when we shaved your legs together, you know.” That had been an experience in of itself. Getting to pay careful attention to Kiritsugu’s legs, to soap them up with shaving gel and then slowly, carefully remove the hair—until he’d decided to let the razor “slip” every now and again. “And how cute your face is. Has anyone ever told you you have a cute face?”

“Only you,” Kiritsugu says.

“What a shame. Maybe if you kept dressing like this, you’d get more compliments.” Kirei kisses him again, and guides Kiritsugu’s hand to his chest, giving him permission to slip a manicured hand down his black collared shirt and feel him up.

As they kiss, Kirei presses a hand between Kiritsugu’s thighs. Everything had been tucked away so neatly that through the thick material it was like there was nothing there. Still, he had supervised every aspect of Kiritsugu’s dress-up. He knows where to tease. His finger boldly rubs the head of Kiritsugu’s cock through his shorts.

Kiritsugu fumbles to unbutton them, and Kirei lets him. He slides them down his legs, baring black lace panties and the flesh-colored medical tape that holds the illusion together. Even here, Kirei hadn’t let him keep any hair. The disgrace and the costume are both complete.

“Let me take it off,” Kiritsugu demands, almost begs.

“No, not yet. I like you like this.” Kirei kisses him on the cheek and fingers him through his panties. The head of his cock had been forced back almost to his hole. It’s exciting to have them both within reach like this. Kiritsugu squirms away from the kiss to rest his head on Kirei’s shoulder and the blonde synthetic fibers of the wig fills Kirei’s vision. He can even feel Kiritsugu’s false breasts pressed, perkily plastic, against his chest. And yet here he is fondling his cock.

Kirei takes a second to adjust himself through his slacks. They’ve barely started, but he had been ready to go for a long time.

Still, there isn’t any use in hurrying.

There’s a vibrator on the bedside table. Kirei easily reaches for it without leaning much. “Awfully considerate of them.” He switches it on and off just to test it, and, satisfied, he reaches around to unwrap the tape from Kiritsugu’s thigh.

It isn’t the reprieve Kiritsugu wanted, though. Instead, Kirei tapes the little vibrator just where it can torment him the most, and turns it on.

Kiritsugu tries to stifle a whine. It’s just one of his many charm points, how he hates to make any noises during sex. There’s no point by now, though; they’re practically bona fide lovers.

“Down,” Kirei commands him, and Kiritsugu clambers to the ground. The floor is immaculately clean, but Kirei wonders how much semen has been spilled on it over the years. He’d once firmly believed it was a sin to waste seed.

It was hardly a waste to see Kiritsugu choke on it.

Kiritsugu has been trained to suck cock since the very beginning of this arrangement. Kirei is honestly rather proud of how well he’s taken to it. It’s his theory that Kiritsugu is a born masochist as well as a deeply subservient person at his core, and is actually happy to perform fellatio whenever requested. Or, maybe Kirei is just telling himself that. Either way, it’s beyond rewarding to see his cock disappear past those pink-smeared lips. Kiritsugu’s transformation really was excellent.

Kirei grasps the top of the wig, more gently than he would otherwise because he doesn’t want to tear it off and because Kiritsugu can’t feel it. He knows what he’s meant to do though, and lets himself be guided as Kirei thrusts in and out of his mouth, following and adjusting his position as Kirei stands to get a better angle.

Looking down, and seeing Kiritsugu’s dark eyes framed by a made-up face and cascading waves of blonde hair, seeing the tips of his long nails peeking out from the sleeves of his sweater, seeing nothing between his legs, seeing the whole image he’s created, is just too good. Kirei lets himself cum and closes his eyes as he feels Kiritsugu’s throat clench around him, swallowing down his release.

The whole time, the vibrator has been going, of course. Kiritsugu is holding himself together as best he can, but he must be uncomfortable by now.

Kirei lingers in his mouth, not pulling out yet, enjoying the afterglow. No need to rush. He tells Kiritsugu as much, and Kiritsugu makes a frustrated noise deep in his throat that Kirei grimaces at. He’s sensitive after finishing.

When he pulls out, his cock is so wet with drool that it makes Kiritsugu retch. It wouldn’t be the first time, if he had vomited. But he doesn’t.

“Your face is a mess. Where’s your purse?”

Kiritsugu gestures to where he had dropped it by the door. Kirei sighs and goes to retrieve it.

“Take better care of your things. Now come on, look at me. Let’s get your face into the light.”

Kirei touches up Kiritsugu’s makeup while Kiritsugu tries not to squirm away.

“You’re so childish. You should be happy to look so pretty, you know.”

Kiritsugu nods and says nothing.

“I’ll let you keep all of this afterwards, so you can dress up anytime you like. Maybe it would be a good escape from your pathetic shell of a life.”

“The only pathetic part of it is this,” Kiritsugu mumbles, his voice wavering a little, trying to keep from showing how the vibrator is affecting him. That makes Kirei laugh despite himself. Kiritsugu has a vicious sense of humor that might have never come to light if not for their arrangement.

“I know you don’t hate it as much as you pretend to. We’re alone, so you might as well be honest.”

Kiritsugu averts his gaze, his face growing redder and redder under his foundation. His labored breathing and the buzz of the vibrator are the only sound.

Kirei sighs and picks Kiritsugu up easily, placing him on his back on the bed. It’s almost frightening, how he seems to have become hollow. He hadn’t been this light when they had fought to the death on that fateful day.

“Lift up your sweater so I can see your breasts.”

Kiritsugu does so, his long nails catching slightly in the knit fabric. He’s still averting his eyes, though his restlessness is getting harder to hide, and it’s evident he’s clutching his sweater to keep himself from freeing his cock. These are some of the most realistic fake breasts Kirei imagines exist, molded to the skin and rising all the way to the collarbone. He’s enough of a good Christian to not have any idea who would want to own these. Perverts, most likely.

“What a naughty girl, not wearing a bra. These breasts are cute, aren’t they?”

“If I said yes, would you at least turn the vibrator off?” Kiritsugu says.

“If I turned it off, I’d have to do something else to tease you. Is that okay?”

Kiritsugu falls silent, but he twists his face to the side to hide it in the sheets. His thighs are pressed together, his shorts loose around his ankles.

“You don’t like when I play with your hole, do you?”

Kiritsugu’s refusal to respond speaks volumes.

Still, Kirei drags a hand up Kiritsugu’s smooth thigh and lingers at the power switch of the vibrator, waiting for Kiritsugu to agree with him.

Kiritsugu takes a shaky breath before he speaks. “They’re cute...” When the reprieve doesn’t come, he is forced to elaborate. “They fit me really well. I w-was worried you’d get something too big, but they’re a good size. Thank you.”

It’s so cute how his voice gets lower when he’s embarrassed. And right now, he is beyond embarrassed. Kirei practically has to read his lips.

When the vibrator is turned off, it’s clear the lack of stimulation is as much of a torture as having it was. Kiritsugu grinds his thighs together to feel something. Kirei doesn’t offer any help.

Instead, he slowly trails his tongue up the synthetic skin and starts to tease at the false nipple, keeping his eyes on Kiritsugu’s face. Kiritsugu thrashes. It’s obvious he’s imagining how it would feel, wishing it was his actual skin that Kirei was licking and gently biting at. Hilariously, one of his hands grasps at his unattended breast, as if he’s trying to pleasure himself with it.

“Fuck you...let me take these things off...” His eyes fill with frustrated tears.

At the sight, Kirei feels himself start to stir again. It really is abject misery that gets him off the most. There’s no point any longer in denying his defect.

Defective since birth. A label he gave himself, and yet he still chafes at it.

“I’m not going to take them off. You’re a woman today, and I’ll fuck you like a woman. And you’ll enjoy it like a woman. Do you understand, Emiya Kiritsugu?”

Kiritsugu writhes under Kirei’s weight, and nods—or maybe he is simply trying to rub his makeup off on the sheets.

“I’ll let you take your cock out. But I don’t want to see it. Keep it in your hand.”

“Okay. Okay, god, okay.”

“And please, don’t take the Lord’s name in vain in front of me. Have you forgotten my profession?”

Kiritsugu probably says something acerbic in response, but it’s too muffled to hear and cut off by a sharp intake of breath as Kirei starts to free his cock from the tape.

It’s been well-held-down and wrapped up, but now the wrappings are wet from precum, and Kiritsugu whines as the blood is finally allowed to rush to where it’s been trying to go. Kirei wonders if he’s been in pain this whole time. If he had been, he could have had the decency to say so.

Obediently Kiritsugu grasps his cock and starts to stroke as if trying to soothe himself. He rolls over onto his side as if hiding a wound and Kirei guides him a little further so that he’s laying on his stomach. Kiritsugu seems happy to be able to hide his face.

From here, he really, totally, and completely looks like a woman. Kirei gets up off the bed, stepping back just a little so he can see all of his partner at once. The long hair, the bare legs, the panties that have been forced down around his thighs, the pink heeled boots.

Kirei frees himself from his tightening slacks and starts to work himself up to full hardness, in preparation. It would be nice if Kiritsugu could have been decent enough to have been born a woman. It would be nice if his affliction hadn’t extended far enough to even override his basic biology.

There was something special, some unique spice to seeing a man in pain. The perversion of the natural order that had been taught to him in Catholic school.

Yes, surely that was it. It was just perversion. Just something wrong with him, that even as his heart longed to uphold the morals he had been raised with, his body loved the sick feeling of being contrary. In that case, he’d hardly get any points from the Almighty by trying to correct himself with even more elaborately sick games.

But he had been born this way. Why had he been created if his existence was a sin? Why was something like him allowed to be born?

And why was he worrying about this when Kiritsugu was prone in front of him?

Kirei climbed back onto the bed and knelt by Kiritsugu’s side, reaching for the lube that’s been so considerately provided by the hotel. His hand hovers over the condoms as well, but he decides against it. No point in starting to use them now; and he’s not even sure the average condom will fit him.

“Let’s get you ready,” he says, almost to himself.

Kiritsugu shudders slightly, either from fear or anticipation. Kirei places a hand on his back and strokes him reassuringly.

“Relax. Shh. We’ll go slowly. I know it’s hard at first, but you like it, don’t you?”

Kiritsugu hates being patronized like that and that’s exactly why Kirei speaks to him this way. Though there is a part of him that likes the idea of being a gentle and considerate lover, experienced and careful, teaching his partner the ropes. If only so that he can betray their expectations halfway.

Kirei takes off the gold rings he had been wearing—Gilgamesh really did rub off on him, in more ways than one—and pours lube onto his fingers. There’s something added to it that makes it feel warm against his skin. He parts Kiritsugu’s cheeks and starts to apply it there too. Kiritsugu moans into the pillow.

“You like that? Here, spread your legs apart further. There we go.” Kirei rubs and teases his finger around the pink rim of Kiritsugu’s asshole before slowly pushing just one finger in. It’s so tight. Maybe it’s just the difference in size, but Kirei can’t believe he’s still this tight.

Of course, it would probably be easier to push in if Kiritsugu wasn’t afraid of him. Kirei keeps petting him with his other hand, trying to get him to relax, while pushing in further with his finger, working the lube inside. Kiritsugu is taking deep breaths as if trying to ward off a panic attack. Not very girlish of him, really.

“It’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“That’s a fucking lie,” Kiritsugu says.

He doesn’t have anything to say to counter that. But he keeps fingering him, adding more lube, working in a second finger, still trying to get Kiritsugu to calm down with sweet empty words and gentle touches.

Finally he hears Kiritsugu faintly whimper. It’s his signal to move on.

“I’m going to enter you now. We’ll go slowly. Just a little at a time. I know you can take it all.”

“Okay,” Kiritsugu says, his voice breaking.

Kirei’s heart practically flutters. Or it would if he had one. Kiritsugu did blow it out, after all.

He needs to use his hands to help pull the rim apart enough for the head of his cock to enter. Even just that feels incredible. He lets out a low groan and has to remind himself what he just said. Just a little at a time.

It’s almost disgusting just how tight and tempting Kiritsugu’s insides are, how much it feels like he wants him there. This is a repulsive sexual act. This is a misuse of the human body in the most elementary way. If Kirei himself had been tasked with creating a list of sins, before anyone else had ever conceived of them, this wouldn’t have even occurred to him.

But people have been ingenious since the dawn of time. Gilgamesh proved as much.

When he’s all in, he pauses to give Kiritsugu a moment to get used to it. Kiritsugu is still dutifully following the instruction he was given and keeping his cock under him, clutching it in his hand. Kirei won’t touch it today. For his part, he’s determined to ignore it and just maintain the fantasy he’s set up.

“I’m going to start to move.”

Kiritsugu is silent, his face buried in pillows and long blonde waves.

“Use your voice to let me know how you feel. Remember, you’re a woman, you know.”

If he acknowledges him, Kirei doesn’t hear or see it. Nevertheless, he begins, picking a slow pace. A romantic pace, he thinks.

He does think of this bond they have as being akin to romantic. Kiritsugu might disagree. But who else has gotten to know him this well in the past few years? Who else could possibly understand the War, and the scars they were both left with? Fundamentally, they disagree on matters too large to ever bridge the gap between them. But when it comes to day-to-day companionship, to intimacy, to self-exploration, surely this relationship is second only to the relationships they had each had with their wives.

Kirei can’t suppress a low laugh when he thinks of them like that. Two poor lonely widowers, using each other as replacement wives.

“What…?” Kiritsugu mumbles, trying to speak past gasps of pleasure.

“I was just imagining you as my wife.” Close enough. Besides, saying that excites him more than the truth did. He picks up his pace to meet the wave of arousal that rose in him at the idea. Kiritsugu whines. “You already practically are. Doing my housework, keeping me company, warming my bed. Dressing like this, acting like a girl whenever I ask...” Knowing it humiliates him makes Kirei want to keep talking. “You _are_ my wife, Kiritsugu.”

And even though he had said it to get a rise out of him, Kirei feels himself shudder with an unidentifiable emotion. Part perverse glee, part amusement—part guilt, and part deeply buried longing. It’s enough that he pulls out and takes a second to catch his breath.

Kiritsugu makes another high-pitched noise. Following the instruction he had been given. Wordlessly showing how he felt.

Kirei flips Kiritsugu over onto his back and lines up at his entrance again, needing to see his face. His makeup’s smeared with tears, long blonde hairs clinging to his lips. He looks fucked-up and fragile and pathetic, and Kirei can’t help but kiss him as he forces his cock back in. Kiritsugu’s moan is lost between them. Kirei finds himself frantically licking the tears from Kiritsugu’s face, then still tastes the tears even though Kiritsugu’s sobs have turned dry. He wonders where they’re coming from before realizing they’re his own. He doesn’t even know why. He just knows that he’s fucking Kiritsugu so hard that the illusion is coming apart, the makeup is streaming onto the pillow and the wig is coming loose, and he’s pursuing an orgasm that keeps getting away from him every time he almost achieves it. The cross he’d been wearing around his neck has fallen out of his shirt and keeps getting in the way between them, and he rips it off but can’t bring himself to toss it out of sight. It occurs to him to strangle Kiritsugu with the cord. He wants to put him out of his misery so badly. He can’t stand to watch him infuriatingly, tortuously wither away before his eyes when he could just die and have his pathetic life be worth something. He can’t bear to lose another wife.

_I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have done any of this._ Kirei can’t manage to cum. Kiritsugu did, his release is splattered all over his pink sweater, but he can’t manage it, even though he’s so close.

If nothing else, he’s learned from the past few years that misery is foolproof. He closes his eyes so he can’t see anything, grasps Kiritsugu’s tender soft cock, and mashes it in his hand enough to hurt him. Kiritsugu yelps and sobs in pain and that does it. Thank God. He finishes, and collapses bonelessly besides Kiritsugu, pulling out slowly and carefully.

They lay there in the dim warm anonymous room. Kirei can hear Kiritsugu breathing, trying to recover. Finally, Kiritsugu says something, in the low, wavering voice of a battered man.

“I’m going to clean up. I’ll start a bath.”

Kirei doesn’t acknowledge him. He feels too heavy to move.

The first few slow steps Kiritsugu takes away from the bed have the soft tapping sound of high heels. Then there’s two thumps, and the quieter sound of bare feet walking to the bathroom.

Water begins to run in the bath. He hears Kiritsugu walking, there’s silence, then the toilet flushes. Kirei clears the wet emotion out of his throat.

“It’s a sin to cast seed into the sewer, you know.”

“You cast it into my ass. What was I supposed to do with it.” He responds so flatly, it’s not a question.

Kirei still won’t open his eyes. He’s so tired. Maybe he’s getting old. “I can’t throw out the values I was raised with. I’m sure you’re the same.”

The sound of running water stops, and there’s a splash. “...I’m not sure I was raised with any values worth keeping.”

“Maybe that’s why I’ll never understand you.”

Finally the promise of a hot bath wins out over the weariness tying him down to the bed. Kirei rises, and starts to undress, unbuttoning his shirt, noticing the cum stain on it. It had been expensive, but he can afford another one. Material possessions are as meaningless to him as money is. He removes everything, folding it neatly, even as wrinkled as it is. Kiritsugu, on the other hand, seems to have tossed all his clothes to the floor.

It’s a big bathtub, enough for two or even four people, and Kiritsugu is sitting in it as if it’s packed and he’s being considerate of the personal space of everyone else there. He’s already scrubbed off as much makeup as he can, but these products are more tenacious than most men expect, and so his face still looks blotchy and sickly.

Kirei sinks into the water and it feels amazing. As amazing as the second orgasm had felt. Possibly better. There’s no complicated baggage to push to the back of his mind with enjoying a bath, after all.

He feels the soft dab of a wet washcloth on his chest and opens his eyes. Kiritsugu is kneeling in front of him, hesitating.

“You want me to wash you?”

“What?”

“Since I’m your wife.” Kiritsugu’s face is completely blank. Soulless.

Kirei is so bewildered that he goes along with it. “Th-that would be nice. Thank you.”

Kiritsugu’s expression doesn’t change at all as he starts to dutifully wash him, cleaning the sweat and tears from his face, climbing up against him without any regard for space between them.

Finally he speaks.

“I know you lost your wife not long before the War started.”

Kirei nods, still wondering what on earth this is. Kiritsugu has never, never spoken to him like this, has only ever treated him like evil incarnate.

“It’s...it’s hard, isn’t it? It makes your life feel emptier.”

“...it does.”

He keeps going as if he’s talking to himself. “I should know, because,” Kiritsugu lets out one harsh dry bark of a laugh, “you killed mine.”

If he’s looking for an apology, he won’t get one. Kirei is incapable of remorse about it.

“She was...she was going to die anyway. I knew for a long time. She always knew. She didn’t have long...we...”

“Stop talking.”

Kiritsugu stops talking.

As much to distract himself as anything else, Kirei takes the washcloth from Kiritsugu’s hand and starts to clean his face, wiping off the makeup he didn’t get earlier. Kiritsugu closes his eyes and leans into the touch. The water is so warm, it comforts on a primal level that nothing else can. In some strange wordless bonding activity of pure meaningless touch, they take turns washing each other, all labels and all past and future wiped away.

Finally, Kiritsugu sighs. His voice is still raw, and pink marks are starting to appear on his skin where the breastforms and tape chafed him all day. “It’s not fair for you to have all this hair if you’re not even going to try growing a beard.”

“I don’t like beards.”

Kiritsugu says nothing. Something that Kirei has never, ever thought about suddenly dawns on him.

“Emiya Kiritsugu. Have you been trying to grow a beard this whole time?”

Kiritsugu stoically avoids the question. “...it’s going to take forever for my hair to grow back, isn’t it?”

“If that’s what your attempt at a beard looks like, you should probably stay clean-shaven!”

“I was talking about my leg hair. My pubic hair. My ass hair,” Kiritsugu says venomously, slapping Kirei in the chest with the washcloth. “I feel like a plucked chicken.”

“It’ll be rough when it grows back in. Just keep shaving and you won’t have to deal with it.” Kirei smiles despite himself. Teasing him will never not be fun.

“No. For one thing, it’s impossible to do by myself.”

“Stop by the church and I’ll shave your asshole all you want.”

Kirei could swear he sees Kiritsugu almost smile. This is a bizarre, bizarre occurrence, a moment that will burst like a soap bubble if one of them gets up. He has no idea how or why this happened or if anything like it will ever happen again.

“All this, and I’m going to have to put on that bullshit again when we get out of here,” Kiritsugu says. “Where do you even find those things?”

“There are many excellent mail-order catalogs.”

“Where do you find the catalogs?” Kiritsugu shakes his head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” He sinks further into the water, leaning against Kirei’s shoulder. “We’ll have to tape my dick back up...”

“There’s extra tape in your purse.”

“I wish I didn’t have to.”

“I’ll have to get our clothes cleaned before we leave here. I paid for three hours, and I can pay for many more if necessary. You can take a break from taping until we step back out.”

“Wow, you’re a regular sugar daddy. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Kiritsugu was being sarcastic, and Kirei’s response is equally sarcastic, and though he knows they have to resume their game, pick up their costumes and carry on eventually, he wants to cling to every moment that they have here together. He wants to forget the words man, woman, husband, wife, priest, assassin, master, slave, sadist, masochist, and everything else; and he wants to stay here, in this dim warm rented box, with the person that he found inside of it.

He presses a kiss to Kiritsugu’s forehead, and Kiritsugu doesn’t flinch away.


End file.
